“Very fine cow, that,” commented the lawyer.  “An inspiring creature.  I spend hours looking at that cow.  She is a comfort to my philosophic soul.”

The captain observed that he wanted to know.

“Yes,” continued Kendrick.  “She is happy; you can see that she is happy.  Now why?”

“‘Cause she’s eatin’ grass,” declared Captain Obed, promptly.

“That’s it.  Good for you!  You have a philosophic soul yourself, Captain.  She is happy because she has nothing to do but eat, and there is plenty to eat.  That’s my case exactly.  I have nothing to do except eat, and at Mrs. Barnes’ boarding-house there is always enough, and more than enough, to eat.  The cow is happy and I ought to be, I suppose.  If my food was furnished free of cost I should be, I presume.”

Kenelm Parker heard a conversation like the foregoing on one occasion and left the office rubbing his forehead.

“There’s two lunatics in that place,” he told the postmaster.  “And if I’d stayed there much longer and listened to their ravin’s there’d have been another one.”

Kenelm seemed unusually contented and happy in his capacity as man-of-all-work at the High Cliff House.  Possibly the fact that there was so very little real work to do may have helped to keep him in this frame of mind.  He had always the appearance of being very busy; a rake or a hoe or the kindling hatchet were seldom out of reach of his hand.  He talked a great deal about being “beat out,” and of the care and responsibility which were his.  Most of these remarks were addressed to Imogene, to whom he had apparently taken a great fancy.

Imogene was divided in her feelings toward Mr. Parker.

“He’s an awful interestin’ talker,” she confided to Emily.  “Every time he comes into this kitchen I have to watch out or he’ll stay and talk till noontime.  And yet if I want to get him to do somethin’ or other he is always chock full of business that can’t wait a minute.  I like to hear him talk—­he’s got ideas on ’most every kind of thing—­but I have to work, myself.”

“Do you mean that he doesn’t work?” asked Emily.

“I don’t know whether he does or not.  I can’t make out.  If he don’t he’s an awful good make-believe, that’s all I’ve got to say.  One time I caught him back of the woodpile sound asleep, but he was hanging onto the axe just the same.  Said he set up half the night before worryin’ for fear he mightn’t be able to get through his next day’s work, and the want of rest had been too much for him.  Then he started in to tell me about his home life and I listened for ten minutes before I come to enough to get back to the house.”

“Do you think he is lazy, Imogene?”

“I don’t know.  He says he never had no chance and it might be that’s so.  He says the ambition’s been pretty well drove out of him, and I guess it has.  I should think ’twould be.  The way that sister of his nags at him all the time is enough to drive out the—­the measles.”